Ah, yes. I just came back from a walk by the Hudson River. Or rather, I sat under a tree for a bit by the Hudson which quietly exuded its healing energies and let myself feel a rage that just comes up every once in awhile.

I started writing a very short play for two women, which I call “Now You’ll Underearni-versity”. The main character of the piece is Lisa, a middle-aged T&E lawyer talking on the phone with her colleague and sometimes friend, sometimes nemesis at Americunttrust (OK, I’ll probably come up with a better name for it. Maybe Bleeding Americans Dry Bank or something) but she gets interrupted by a neighbor calling to tell Lisa that the neighbor’s daughter Joy killed herself in a car crash because of (you guessed it!) her studet loans. She couldn’t deal with it all, and saw no other way out than to off herself.

Over the weekend, I talked with someone who works for a soulless corporation, the place I got my Mo-Fo-Artz degree from. Sometimes I think of myself as an MFA–a money free asshole. Right where the Cuntz at Weill-Pandit (should that be Wild Bandits?) want me. Death-death-death! Merry fun to be had by Hades &co. right?

Anyway, I got myself worked up into a lather as I frequently do, only this time I realized that this really isn’t me. As much as I may have “enjoyed” typing what I just typed and won’t edit (for the time being at least), I need to acknowledge that there is a porousness to my consciousness. Sometimes things just float into my head, and they stir things up.

I sat here and drew a tarot card first to help me understand what was going on. I drew the 4 of pentacles which is a card that frequently denotes the consciousness of poverty. Then I drew a card from Doreen Virtue’s Goddess Guidance cards and got Aphrodite, who is about reconnecting with my own divine self.

I forgot my divinity for that 45 minutes or so. And in that process I didn’t really see the beauty of the Hudson or take in the lovely warmth of a late-August sun on my shoulders. I was in my rage at the aspect of my humanity that is militantly stupid–evil. It is a baseness that makes me want to kill myself, because that part of me is the Hobbesian dumbthness of my dark uhane as it were. The part of me that sits in judgment of the brute that wants to control, that feels put upon by the karmic chain I have put together, that doesn’t want to shake my fists in outrage at this injustice called the student loan industry, that makes me want to kill myself, or at least die trying to kill some nameless bloodsucking suit which would probably only make me feel worse in the long run.

I don’t know. I need to surrender to divine will here. Something is slouching out of this human Bethlehem waiting to be born.

(Funny, I just realized that there is a Bethlehem, New York that is right near by here. I wonder what those folks must think about Yeats’s poem, “what rough beast” and all. Especially seeing as it’s a Columbine-ripe type of suburb–lily white and UMC.)

(I take it out of the law as to any prophecies that might seemingly arise from that. Better not to add to that sort of energy.)

There is some sort of movement shaking loose. Ben Franklin and others have been saying so, and I think they do get genuinely worried about my anger here. Though it is serving some purpose. I did write a draft of this play. The other character is Lisa’s assistant, Missy, who is also struggling with the debt. I don’t even get into her issues, but she, like me at work (“owrk” is my typo. OW-work more apropos perhaps?), carries herself in a slump and a perpetual shrug. She’s turning her anger inward and making herself the one to blame for having been suckered. Now You’ll Underearn-iversity indeed.